Their Saving Grace
by The Evilest Regal
Summary: Lucien leads his sister to believe that he is in a committed relationship, but when she drops by for an unexpected visit, he has no choice but to beg Jean to help him keep up the act.


He finds her in the living room, vacuuming away, seemingly in her own little world. He can't help but be fascinated by the domesticity of it all. She's been helping him for what in reality was a relatively short period of time, yet she slipped into the new routine with him seamlessly, far better then he imagined she would. He knows the switch from a life with his father to a life with him couldn't have been easy. But he's quickly come to learn that Jean Beazley is nothing if not resilient, and it took them only a short while to find their rhythm. He hates to throw a wrench in it, but he really is out of options.

He approaches her slowly, angles himself so she is able to see his approaching form out of the corner of her eye to avoid startling her. The small smile that quirks her lips instantly elicits a matching one on his own as she switches the machine off and turns to face him.

"Doctor, anything I can help you with?" She's looking at him expectantly, and he feels his stomach begin to twist as he steels himself.

"Yes, actually." He pauses, and though he's rehearsed this particular conversation countless times in his head, it is not so easy to begin. But she's looking at him in that way she does, eyebrows lifted, mouth pursed a bit. Expectantly. And so he trudges on. "I'm afraid I've got a favor to ask of you."

At this, a slight furrow manifests on her forehead and her head tilts questioningly, but she says nothing. He gets the feeling he's supposed to continue.

"See, Grace just rang and apparently she's dropping in for a visit."

"Grace? Your sister Grace?"

"Yes, yes," he confirms. Her face registers shock, which she attempts (and nearly, but not quite, succeeds) to conceal.

"Your father used to mention her every now and again, but I've never actually met her."

"Yes, well, after our mother's death, she fell out of touch." He realizes that this answer is no sufficient explanation, so he follows up with, "She quite literally lost it. Fell off the grid, refused to even drive down the road to the house." He pauses here, a look washing over his features which clearly unsettles her entire being, leaves her with clenching teeth and an uneasy expression. "Never even came back for father's funeral."

There's a short silence. His eyes are blank and he's swimming aimlessly in the confines of his own mind. He is grateful that she gives him a few moments to pull himself back, and when he does, a sheepish grin falls into place as though it had never left.

"Anyway, she's apparently found herself within the last year. Traveling here and there and never forgetting to send a complementary postcard detailing her exotic travels to her dear brother." His face contorts into a somewhat nasty expression, and Jean's lips quirk ever so slightly. "She's quite the storyteller. Always has been, actually, since we were children. Oh, what a little brat she was. Always running here and there, seeing what dirt she could dig up just to stir the pot. You know, come to think of it, she-."

"Lucien," she interrupts, a expectant looking crossing her face. He realizes he's rambling and swallows.

"Right," he breathes out, running the palms of his hands over his slacks. "There's a slight chance I might have misled her to believe that my live-in housekeeper wasn't just my housekeeper-well, that I don't have a housekeeper at all, that perhaps rather than a housekeeper, she's more of a... a lady friend."

He's been avoiding eye contact at all costs, opting to burn holes in his twiddling hands instead. But now, when she says nothing and the silence falls over them like a wool blanket, suffocating and heavy, he tentatively raises his eyes to meet hers.

Her expression is nothing short of unamused. In fact, he's sure that he's seen more enthusiastic patients on their way into the surgery for their yearly checkup. When her eyes narrow even further and her arms come up to fold against her chest, he briefly wishes to be a pile of ashes on the floor, ready to be eaten by Jean's vacuum, rather than the bumbling doctor responsible for that look on her face.

"Lucien Blake," she says, voice smooth yet condescending in a way he has not heard since he was a child. "You did not."

"I did, Jean, I am so sorry. But I just couldn't stand that she felt the need to rub her glorious lifestyle in my face every bloody chance she got. The one thing that I have and she doesn't is you."

The silence thickens after this, and it takes him only a moment to realize what he's said after he sees the look on her face.

"I just mean, the idea of you." No better. "The idea of us." Nope. He sighs. "The idea of having someone. A person to depend on." He supposes that's better.

"Right," she says after a few seconds (which, to Lucien, felt like years.) "So you expect me to go along with the assumption that we," at this point she motions between them with her hands, eyebrows furrowed as if trying to work something deeply complex out, "are seeing one another. In a completely romantic sense."

"Engaged, actually," he mutters just loud enough for her to hear. Her eyes widen further.

"Right, naturally." She blows an exasperated puff of air, shaking her head slightly. Silence blooms once more, and Lucien can no longer stand it.

"Please, Jean. It won't be longer than for a few hours. And just think, how different could it be from performing in a play? Just think of this as extra practice."

She scoffs at this, eyebrows shooting up to her hairline. "You're not honestly suggesting that openly deceiving someone and partaking in a production with a theatrical company are the same."

"Well, probably not morally speaking, no. But-"

"Exactly. Morally speaking, I just can't." His face must have fallen at that, any hope that he once held out now disintegrating. But he realizes how wrong it would be to make her feel guilty for denying him such a selfish request. So he does his best to school his features to not reflect his disappointment. "I'm sorry, Lucien."

"No, no, no," he says quickly, reaching his hands out to cover the one of hers resting on the vacuum handle. "You've absolutely nothing to be sorry for. It's me who should apologize. I've no right to ask this of you." She's still looking at him with a fixed expression, with what appears to be a hint of sadness mixed in with all that frown. He smiles lightly at her and gives her hand a last little squeeze. "I'm sorry, Jean."

He doesn't give her a chance to respond, turning and exiting the room the way he came. He really should have known better, and what's more is that he should have taken her feelings into account before he asked the favor of her. No one is more firmly planted in their morals and religion than Jean Beazley, and he realizes now how wrong it was of him to ask her to compromise her values for him. For a bout of childish sibling rivalry. He shakes his head softly and begins running though the possible ways to talk himself out of this with his sister.

Jean disappears to her room shortly after the discussion in the living room, and Lucien is left to both construct an explanation which would inflict the least amount of damage on his ego and wallow in nervous guilt. He doesn't have long to be alone with his thoughts however, because Grace arrives within the next hour. It's been decades, but he would not have mistaken that signature, childlike knock on the door for anyone else. He steels himself quickly before flinging it open, drawing in a deep breath when he first catches sight of her.

She's much older than she was when they last saw each other (he supposes she's thinking the exact same thing of him) and she's changed her hair. It's black as night now, hanging to the middle of her waist, which has him smiling fondly. Leave it to his sister to completely disregard conventional beauty standards. But she is undeniably his Grace, with those deep blue eyes and crooked smile. She's in his arms before he has a chance to greet her, bending her elbows under his arms and up his back to lock him in place against her, burying her face in the curve of his neck. He feels the smile growing on her lips before he sees it.

"Oh, Gray," he says, holding her firmly for a few moments before gently pushing her away so he can get a better look at her face. He brushes stray hairs away from her eyes, feels his heart clenching at the realization of just how much she looks like their mother. "It's good to see you."

"Back at you, brother," she says, smoothing away the crinkles she left behind in his suit. "I must say, you look rather dapper."

He chuckles at this, ushering her inside and shutting the door behind them. But before he has a chance to thank her, she's saying, "Of course, your overall appearance would drastically improve if you would do something about that grey." And there's the Gray he remembers, he thinks as she pinches his chin lightly, turning and making her way down the hall. He merely rolls his eyes and follows her.

"This place hasn't changed one bit," she says, and her voice has acquired a distant tone, as if she was reliving the memories she had with every surface she ran her fingertips across.

"You'll find some things are different," he says. "The sitting room sink doesn't leak anymore."

She turns abruptly at this, a twinkle in her eye. "I suppose it's a good thing you fixed it, since you were the one to break it in the first place."

"Gray, you and I both know that was you who stole the tools I received for Christmas and pretended to be a handyman. You nearly flooded the bathroom and poor Mr. Butler got the brunt of the consequences."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," she denies, but the mischievous glint in her eyes tells a different story. "Besides, Mr. Butler was skimming money out of the weekly grocery allowance for months, maybe years. A little reprimanding wouldn't have killed him."

"I suppose you're right," he says with a resigned sigh, taking the seat opposite her at the kitchen table. He knows she will eventually want to see the rest of the house, but by the looks of it, merely the walk from the front door to the kitchen has winded her, leaving her peering at everything through glassy eyes and nimbly tracing the pattern of the table as though it was made of sugar and might crumble at any moment.

"I'm sure you've got quite a few stories worth sharing," he breaks the silence, noting with a sigh of relief how the sorrowful look on her face falls away almost instantly, replaced with a mixture of mirth and excitement.

"Oh, brother dear, you've absolutely no idea." And so she begins regaling stories about jungles and rainforests, deserts and secret passages beneath the cities in France, libraries so large they had trolleys to take you from one end to the other, and all sorts of other fantastic tales he has a tough time swallowing. But he lets her have this, even if she imbues every detail with a horrendous amount of dramatic flair to the point where he's certain the majority of the stories are exaggerated.

When she's satisfied that he's thoroughly in awe of her adventures, she redirects the light to him. She makes a show of peering around the room and craning her neck to look as far down the hall as possible, eyes squinting.

"Lucie, you know better than anyone how thin my patience truly is, yet I think I've done pretty well up till now," she says, and he feels dread begin to seep into his stomach once more. "Now, where is she?"

He won't meet her gaze, squeezes his eyes shut for a fraction of a second and prays to Jean's God to spare at least a fraction of his dignity.

"About that," he begins, and he already can see the small smile forming on her lips. "You see, I'm afraid she's-"

"I'm sorry, darling," a voice rings out behind him, and his eyebrows disappear in his hairline and he nearly breaks his neck from turning his head so quickly. And there before him stands Jean Beazley, a smile set firmly on her lips and a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

Jean had felt so incredibly guilty. And the rational, logical part of her brain knew that she shouldn't have. Lucien should never have even asked that of her, it was unfair. But the larger part of her remembers the crestfallen look on his face when she had denied his request, and longed to do whatever it took to wipe that frown away. She's not worried that she won't be able to act the party convincingly. No, she's worried that this role will be one far too easy to fall into.

And what's more, she doesn't quite understand it, this need to ensure his happiness, and she doesn't know where it came from. But it is definitely present, so she tucks her morals and fears in her back pocket, temporarily at least, and prepares herself for what she knows she must do. Somehow, she knows that falling into a character in love with Lucien Blake, in all his charming glory, would not be such a difficult feat.

"That was the caterer on the phone, apparently there was a mixup with the date." Jean makes her way past him, placing a hand on his shoulder as she goes to where Grace is sitting.

"You must be Grace," she says brightly, removing her hand from Lucien's shoulder and extending it to the woman sitting adjacent him. Grace takes her hand with a slightly bewildered look on her face. "I'm Jean. Lovely to finally meet you."

"Likewise," Grace says, glancing briefly over to Lucien. Jean looks over to him as well, and when he lifts his gaze to meet hers, she knows that the dumbfounded look on his face would give them away. She glares meaningfully at him, and he quickly schools his features into a cool mask and smiles at his sister.

"Everything is sorted out now?" Lucien asks, and Jean nods her confirmation, retracting her hand from Grace's and sliding into the seat next to Lucien, but not before placing a sweet kiss on his cheek. His eyes fly to meet hers, something akin to wonder or disbelief swirling in the blue orbs, and she merely smirks back.

"Yes, yes," she says. She spares a glance to Grace, who is displaying a dumbfounded look of her own. "Everything is as it should be." When she says this, she beams brightly at Lucien, reaching out to cover his hand with one of her own. He looks slightly taken aback, and she desperately hopes she isn't taking this too far. But when his smile grows to match her own, when he brings her hand up to his lips and places a soft kiss to her knuckles, she knows she isn't.

"Well well," Grace says, looking between the two of them. "You know, Lucien, when you told me you had found the great love of your life, I thought you to be pulling one over on me for sure." She considers them for a moment, gaze falling to their conjoined hands suspiciously. "It appears I was wrong."

Jean notes that the older woman still doesn't look convinced, but she shrugs it off. There's still time.

"Darling, could you put the kettle on? I'm going to show Grace into the sitting room," Jean says, trying to hide the smirk forming on her lips when Lucien eyes the kettle with disdain. She stands and Grace follows suit, and the women make their way into the other room, leaving Lucien to his task.

Jean furrows her brow in confusion when Grace goes immediately into the bathroom upon entering the sitting room. The woman turns the sink on, water circling before falling down the drain. She bends down to inspect the pipes, a smile forming on her lips.

"He really did fix it," she says as a way of explanation, returning to take a seat on the couch. At Jean's continued baffled expression, she continues, "When we were little, I might have accidentally caused a leak in that sink. I thought it would never get fixed. It wasn't like anyone ever came in here." She looks around wistfully, and Jean feels uncomfortable, like she's an intruder in this woman's home.

"I see," Jean says, standing and smoothing out her clothes. "I best make sure Lucien isn't burning down the kitchen. Make yourself comfortable."

And with that, she turns and makes her way to the kitchen. She finds Lucien with the kettle on the stove, staring at it like it might burst into flames at any moment. She chuckles softly, walking over to him and gently nudging him over so she can take over.

"What changed your mind?" His voice is soft, and she doesn't look at him, but feels his eyes boring holes in her head all the same.

"Honestly?" she asks, turning and resting against the counter. She waits until he hums his insistance before she continues. "You were right. I need the acting practice."

It's a complete lie, and they both know it. But thankfully, he's gracious enough to simply huff out a small laugh and not question her further.

"But if you aren't able to wipe those dumb looks off your face, we won't sell this, no matter how convincing I am," she chides.

"I know, I know. I suppose I've never been a very convincing performer." They stand in silence for a moment, before he adds, "Any tips?"

She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms. "It's not like we don't know how couples act. We've both been married before. Just draw from that."

"Right," he says. "Should we-"

The kettle begins to whistle, startling them both.

"Go keep your sister company while I finish up here," she instructs, grabbing an oven mitt out of a drawer.

Soon, she has three steaming cups on a tray and is depositing each one next to Lucien and his sister, setting her own on the side table. They fall into slightly awkward but relatively constant conversation for a bit, Grace summarizing a few of her more adventurous trips for Jean's benefit and Lucien and Grace reliving old memories, wistful expressions falling every now and then over their faces. Jean, for her part, is content to listen, mostly. She watches the way his face contorts into childlike disgust when Grace brings up the cranberry sauce and cornbread dressing their grandmother practically force fed them during the holidays, and the way his voice lilts when speaking of his mother, a slight lift of the corner of his mouth and eyes swarming with love and longing. She feels the warmth from his laugh at some of the fonder memories deep within her bones, and she tries to stifle the blush rising in her cheeks when he cuts her a glance every now and then, adoration on his face clear as day, hand occasionally coming to rest lightly on her knee. He was wrong when he said he wasn't a convincing performer. He's making her feel as though this is not the first, but merely one in a million, lifetime in which he has loved her. In which he has cherished her.

She's beginning to rethink agreeing to this. Feelings are rising up in her heart which had been dormant, which she has done nothing but dutifully repress since she first discovered their existence months prior. Anything she might feel for this man is simply inappropriate. She's never given it more than a second thought (or so she likes to think,) but when he's looking at her in that way he does, it is difficult to remember why.

"So, tell me again how the two of you first met," Grace says rather suddenly, veering away from their previous conversation with purpose in her matter of fact tone. Jean shoots a wide-eyed glance to Lucien, who opens his mouth to verbally recount their first meeting, one which he had written to her in letters about before.

"Well, as I told you before, one day I was-"

"No," she interrupts, pointed gaze falling on Jean. "I want to hear Jean tell it."

Jean just knew that Grace wasn't convinced, could see that when they were sitting at the kitchen table. But she didn't think she would actually put them in the spotlight, which is exactly what Grace was doing. Planning to stack their stories up side by side to highlight any and all discrepancies between them.

Eyes fly up in panic to lock together, Lucien looking dumbfounded as ever, no help to worm their way out of this one. And here's the thing, Jean considers herself a fairly seasoned actress, has unstuck herself from sticky situations both on and off the stage countless times before. This, being questioned by a woman so akin to the man she's been living in close quarters with for quite some time, shouldn't really prove an issue.

But here's the other thing. With the way he's been looking at her, the way his hand finds it's way to her knee every so often with soothing circles, the way his eyes crinkle when their gazes find one another, like they're guarding the biggest and best secret in the world, Jean Beazley is not exactly in the best state of mind.

"I um, I- see," she's fumbling and Grace is beginning to smirk between the two of them and she sees the panic in her own stomach reflect on Lucien's face and no, she will not ruin this for him. "Oh God!" She puts a hand over her stomach and stands, swiftly making her way toward the exit. "The baby!"

"THE BABY?" Two pairs of exclamations ring out, but before she's even made it to the door, she hears Lucien relay his apologies to his sister and hurry after her. Jean does the only thing that comes to her mind at that moment: makes a beeline straight for the bathroom in Lucien's room. She hears the door to the bedroom shut behind her, but doesn't spare a glance back until they're both in the bathroom, her with her back leaning up against the counter and him against the door.

She looks up at him to find barely repressed laughter, and she feels her own lips quirk up.

"I suppose congratulations are in order," he says, reaching out an arm to lightly grip her shoulder, and that does it. They're both in peels of laughter, her holding her stomach for an entirely different reason this time, both wheezing and struggling to suck in air. She attempts to shush him, but the laughter spilling from her own mouth does nothing to help.

"Oh, God," she breathes out, bringing a hand up to her head and attempting once more to calm the hilarity flirting between them. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"Something brilliant," he says, his own laughter dying down to a small chuckle from his lips.

"Lucien, this really isn't good. What happens when she returns for a visit a year later and finds no child?"

"Well," he says. "False alarm." She shrugs in response, finding no better solution. "Besides, I doubt she visits for quite some time. Gray's the free spirit of the family."

She hums her response, stealing a glance at him. He smiles at her.

"Thank you," he says, and he's looking at her with those big eyes again. "For helping me." She quickly looks away, patting the hand he has resting on the countertop quickly and clears her throat.

"We should probably get back," she says when the silence thickens, already opening up the door to exit.

"Wait!" She turns back around, raises her eyebrows at the stuttering man before her. "We should think of names."

She almost laughs, but the look on his face has grown serious, so she considers it for a moment.

"Well, I've always liked Charlotte, if it's a girl."

"I quite like that too," he says, mulling it over. Jean can't stop her mind from wandering. She thinks Lucien would make an excellent father, with his innately caring nature and quick mind. "And Peter, for a boy, I think."

"Peter," she echoes. They would have their father's eyes, but curly chocolate hair from her. She likes to think they would be well-behaved, but anything half Lucien Blake is sure to have a mischievous streak. She looks at him to find a similar, wistful expression on his own face. Whether he is thinking of the potential that the fake child in her belly carries or his own daughter, she does not know. But she clears her throat all the same, bringing him out of his mind with a small smile. She extends her hand to him (for pretenses, of course) and they walk out together, his thumb tracing idle patterns on the top of her hand.

By the end of dinner, Lucien and Jean have managed to convince his sister that they are indeed expecting. Or rather, he hopes they've convinced her. Hell, Lucien is half convinced himself that come next Spring, there'll be a new addition to the household. He spares a glance at Jean who's deep in conversation about her years in the theater, and finds himself almost wishing this whole charade wasn't a charade at all. Wishing it was real, that Jean was really his fiancée and they were anxiously awaiting the arrival of Charlotte or Peter Blake. Maybe even both. Twins weren't unheard of in his family.

They would have to convert Danny's old room into a nursery, and they would both pick the color schemes and spend a couple of days painting, flecks of color in her hair and in his beard, a bright line smeared across his left cheek from when he had gone in for a kiss and she was feeling playful.

"Lucien!" Grace's rather loud exclamation pulls him back from his thoughts to find both women staring at him intently. "Miles away, were you?"

"Yes," he admits, snaking a hand across the table to fold into Jean's. The look she gives him is a mixture of sadness and longing, as if she knows exactly where his mind had traveled to, but she smiles lightly and squeezes his hand.

"Well, for the fifth time, do we have a date for the wedding yet? I'd like to know when to be back in town."

"We were thinking Fall of next year," he says, without skipping a beat. "We want Peter to be there, even if he will be too young to remember it."

"Oh, so it's Peter today?" Jean asks, a smirk on her mouth. "No, I'm fairly certain she's a Charlotte." She brings a hand down to rest against her abdomen. Lucien would be convinced she's actually pregnant were he not in on the secret. Although, if you'd ask him, she always seems to be glowing.

"Mark me down for a plus one, will you? After I leave here, I'm heading for the French Alps with a friend I met in Paris," Grace says. And then, with what could be described as nothing short of a devilish smirk, "And you know what wonders the cold does for drawing people closer together."

"That is an image I did not need in my head," Lucien says, presses fingertips to his temples and squeezing his eyes in mock horror. Jean chuckles softly at the two of them.

"I really had better go," Grace says, eyeing the setting sun from outside the window. She stands, grabbing the satchel she had hung from the back of the chair. "I've got a long trip ahead of me."

"Of course," Lucien says, but he can't help but feel his heart drop slightly. Both at his sister's (whom he hasn't seen in years and doesn't know when she will be back) departure and at the fact that his and Jean's little game will be up. When they both stand, he leans close to Jean and wraps an arm around her waist, just because he can. He feels her sink into him, bringing her arm across her abdomen and lacing their fingers. Dropping his head to place a kiss in her hair, he closes his eyes, tries to remember every feeling, every sensation he is able to. There's a chance he will never be able to hold her again, and with a sinking feeling in his gut, he realizes how deeply he resents that fact.

They walk Grace to the door as she shrugs on her coat.

"It was lovely to see you, Gray," he says, unwinding himself from Jean momentarily so he can wrap him sister in his arms. He takes her keys from her with the promise of starting her car and exits the house.

"Come visit anytime," Jean adds, and Grace nods before coming to stand before her.

"I'll be back soon," she promises, going in to hug Jean as well. When she pulls back, she locks eyes with the slight woman, smiling softly. "I know I haven't seen him in years, but I dare say you are the best thing that has happened to my brother in a very long time. I've never seen him happier." Jean feels her eyes begin to prick with moisture, but she swallows and forces the tears away. "It's clear how much you both care for one another. I only hope to have the same one day."

"You will," is all Jean can manage, the tears making a swift return. She dabs at the corners of her eyes and hopes Grace blames pregnancy hormones. If only she really knew from where the tears stemmed. "Perhaps even in a certain Parisian gentleman."

Grace's laugh rings out through the hallway, and Jean notes with a smile how both her and her brother have the same infectious laugh. She finds herself smiling too.

"All set," Lucien returns, stopping abruptly when he sees Jean's red nose and the way the two women have drawn closer together. "Did I miss something?"

Jean chuckles softly, shaking her head and drawing him against him with a hand on his arms. "Girls' secret."

"Now that's no fair," he says in an exasperated huff, and furrows his brow when the two woman begin lightly laughing at his dismay.

"Oh, brother," Grace says, going up to press a light kiss to his cheek and squeezing Jean's arm slightly. "When have you ever known me to play by the rules?"

And with that, she walks out and shuts the door behind her, leaving the two alone and still wrapped up in one another.

Neither move for a time, both afraid to break this spell they had found themselves in. Eventually, he does move, but only to turn inward slightly, craning his neck to peer at her face.

"You going to tell me what you two were talking about?" He asks, and she shakes her head, rolling her eyes. But she considers his question, mulling over how much gravity Grace's words carried. She decides to jump.

She takes a breath in, refusing to meet his eyes. "Just how she hopes to one day find something as special as what we've found," she says. And then, "How clear it is that we care for one another." She lifts her eyes up tentatively to his now, "How she's never seen you happier."

The words hang in the small space of air between them, crackling with the energy they innately possess. There's a grave look in her eyes, and he feels her body begin to shake softly although her hands grip his arms more firmly, the rise and fall of her chest becoming more rapid, but their gazes remain constant

Neither one moved first, per se, but they like to think that they both moved at the exact time. The hands that were gripping his arms now snake up his shoulder and come to play in the small curls just above his neck, his finding their way to the small of her back and pulling her impossibly closer to him. And all the while, their lips never leave the other's. She sucks hard on his bottom lip, teeth barely scraping over the soft flesh, and before long, her mouth is opening to allow his tongue to find soft purchase in the wet heat of her mouth. They've somehow moved from the middle of the hall to one of the walls, her pressed firmly against it and him boxing her in. They're both so utterly enthralled with one another that they don't hear the door open.

"Jesus Christ," a voice yells out from behind Lucien, and they break apart quick as lightning to find Grace with her hands over her eyes and pressed against the door. "I forgot my hat. But Lord, you couldn't have waited until I pulled out of the driveway?"

When she disappears into the sitting room, Lucien looks down at Jean, whose lips are red and hair thoroughly mussed, but he thinks she's never looked more beautiful. He doesn't get a chance to tell her this as Grace makes a show of nearly jogging back toward the door, opening it grandly and exiting with a quick "now, proceed." to them both.

They both laugh, but he's sure it's mostly from nervous energy and not his sister's wit. When he turns back toward her, he finds her looking at him intently.

"Lucien-"

"No, let me," he rushes, too afraid that she might put whatever this was away before it even got a chance to begin. "I've been hesitant when it's come to you, because you fit so well into my life and I would hate to ruin that, but I need to know if you-"

"Yes," she cuts him off, pulling him back into her space with firm hands. "And Lucien?" He hums, a dumbstruck look hanging on his face. "You really do ramble too much."

"Maybe you should do something about that," he teases, but the last word barely has time to leave his lips before she is back on him. He vaguely thinks about how Grace is still probably not yet out the driveway, but when she runs her tongue along the roof of his mouth, he can barely remember who Grace is.

The conversation they have with his sister is colored with expletives when they reveal the truth to her some months later. But when she gets an invitation to a Spring wedding in the mail, she smiles softly and sends the RSVP for her and her Parisian plus one. And when a couple of months after the wedding she gets a telephone call informing her that she is to be an aunt, she would be lying if she said she didn't get a little misty eyed.

She's at the hospital when Jean and Lucien welcome Charlotte Grace Blake into their home in late fall. She looks down at the swaddled infant, who yawns widely and just barely cracks her eyes open, but already she can tell they will be Lucien's blue. She can't wait until the child is old enough to be regaled with the story of her parents' journey, and how it would likely not have existed had it not been for their saving Grace.


End file.
